


the world won't let me go

by tsarcasm



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsarcasm/pseuds/tsarcasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>at the end of the day she is alone amongst the stars ( gamora: a life in two and a half parts )</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world won't let me go

**Author's Note:**

> Hastily written, hastily edited. Takes place roughly between the '92 Christmas Special and the flashbacks in Infinity Watch and then post Thanos Imperative.

The cold walls of Sanctuary II do not disturb her; they are far more welcoming than the dust of the planet she barely remembers. In this world she is protected and provided for - she has a future.

But Gamora's present exists in the training room where she runs over forms again and again until she can remember nothing but the ache in her limbs and the movement of her arms required bring an enemy low. The combat droid in front of her takes a step forward - her eyes squeeze shut until it no longer resembles something metallic and programable but purple and menacing, with silver hair and black circles around the eyes.

Hate churns within her, towards the Universal Church of Truth and its fanatical leader, and she balls her hands up into fists before her eyes snap open, and she lashes out towards the droid - it takes two kicks to take out one leg and she's thrown back by a well-timed punch. Chest heaving, short dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, but she will not give up. She kicks again, disabling its fine motor control, and follows it with a punch, snapping the wires and tubes that keep the facsimile of a head connected to the torso. It goes flying across the floor, metal scraping against metal until it stops at the foot of her master.

"Gamora," he says, and her attention snaps to him. She remembers being frightened by him once, in her first week with him. He had been towering, imposing and as everyone around fell to the army of the Church, Gamora thought he was there to kill her too. "You have other lessons to attend to, child."

Thanos saved her when her prayers did not. That is the first lesson he ever taught her, and the one she remembers most vividly - the universe is hard and cruel, it does not forgive weakness, and she is not weak. She is Gamora, she is his weapon, and she will have her revenge.

"Yes, master," she replies, spine curving into a bow as her hands clasp behind her back, fingers twisting together until she forgets where one begins and the other ends. Thanos steps aside, and she breaks out into a run - the echo of her bare feet slapping against the metal floors reminding her to keep her pace even and steady.

But even the promise of raining down retribution on the Magus cannot keep her awake forever. Gamora finds herself propping her head up with her hands, elbows supported on the terminal in front of her - currently playing a segment on the beginnings of the Kree/Skrull war. No matter how many times she tries pinching her arm to jolt herself awake, her eyes still slide shut.

Guilt curls in her gut when she realizes she hadn't heard Thanos enter the room, but it dispels just as quickly - Thanos lifting her up out of her seat and cradling her in one of his arms. Childish, she knows, to find comfort so quickly, but the rhythm of his steps only encourages her to drift further into sleep.

"Rest, Gamora," she hears him say when he sets her down in her own bed, her hand already reaching for the stuffed toy she keeps hidden under her pillow. Thanos would not approve, she thinks, even though the dolphin was a gift from him on her eighth birthday. But he says nothing, and Gamora quickly becomes dead to the world around her.

"Sleep well," is what she does not hear, and she does not feel the affectionate touch of a hand on her head before he departs.

-

Gamora learns soon after that caring is weakness, and she will have none of it.

Later still, she learns that she cannot stop herself, and it hurts just as much as it always has. Lying to herself is not a habit she wants to start, but she swears to refuse to let anyone in, knees pulled to her chest as her heart aches so much Gamora briefly entertains the thought that she might be dying.

She's died before.

It didn't hurt as much.

-

The walls of the ship she takes from Hala press in around her, and her lip curls upwards in a sneer. There's nothing she can get her hands on easily that can take her as far away from that planet as she wants - the small craft she'd commandeered might be meant for speed, but it won't open up a gate for her and lacks the engines to do much beyond get her to the closest spaceport.

It's not enough, and the sneer turns into a snarl - loud in the relative silence of the cockpit. Glass shatters, and she lifts her fist up from where she's slammed it into one of the screens. It doesn't matter. She'll sell the ship to the first buyer for enough credits to get a seat on a shuttle that will actually manage interstellar travel in a way that isn't flarking embarrassing.

Autopilot engaged, Gamora retreats into the depths of the ship to pick the shards of glass from her hand, watching the cuts heal before her eyes. A gift from Thanos. One of the better ones, although Gamora cannot find fault in her strength and durability. She'll have to thank him by another spar next time they--

No.

Her hand falls into her lap, head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk, sneer back.

How dare they do this to her? 

She has nothing. _Nothing_. The Guardians of the Galaxy are disbanded, gone, and with them the purpose that Rider had sworn she would have again. Rider is gone, Drax is gone, Quill is gone, Thanos is gone, Adam is gone. They have gone and left her with nothing but rage and statues in a capitol of a planet none of them gave a d'ast about.

The shoddily constructed table is the first thing to fall to her new bout of anger - the metal buckles and warps beneath the force of her kick as it slams into the wall. Next is the couch she'd been sitting on, feathers bursting out into the air as her dagger gouges long lines into the cushions. Her dagger because she's lost Godslayer too. Why would she be allowed to have one final thing?

Destroying the main living section and everything in it doesn't even make her break a sweat, and she kicks the remains of some artistic venture into the table, watching it shatter further with a hollow sense of satisfaction.

Broken, she thinks, and outright refuses to continue that train of thought further. Adam always had the upper hand when it came to poetic turns of phrase and anything that sounded close to philosophy. Gamora will let that rest with him, wherever his corpse may be, she has no need for it now.

Now. And endless stretch of a future she does not have because there is no one to pull her from it this time. The thought echoes around her mind later that night as she stares out at the stars from whatever passes as a bed. 

She does not sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Gamora's origins have changed in the comics due to time traveling - I've chosen to write this fic from the perspective of her original origin with her people killed by the UCT rather than the Badoon. Up until 2013, Gamora has always used 'Master' or 'Thanos' to refer to Thanos while she still worked for him, never father.
> 
> The title is from "Blindness" by Metric.


End file.
